


Bette Davis Eyes

by Amberly



Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: Banter, M/M, hard sarcasm, prison break - Freeform, the anger and the fury
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-08
Updated: 2018-03-07
Packaged: 2019-03-28 11:41:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13903272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amberly/pseuds/Amberly
Summary: The 80s synth pop should have been Trowa’s first clue.It wasn’t even his second.





	Bette Davis Eyes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kangofu_CB](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kangofu_CB/gifts).



> I don't know how long ago it was that Kangofu and I tossed around this idea of Duo breaking Trowa out of prison (complete with 80s synthpop and old married couple style bickering), but I finally have the first part of it here! This whole fic is dedicated to her, on account of her being really goddamn awesome and supportive and just all around wonderful. Happy Birthday to me I wrote you a fic!! 
> 
> The graphic violence in this is not really graphic, but people are definitely dying, and it's definitely pretty clear where that happens. Chapter two is planned but NOT written, and details not only Trowa's whole adventure but will also have a Surprise. 
> 
> Thank you all for reading <3
> 
> Amberly

The 80s synth pop should have been Trowa’s first clue. 

It wasn’t even his second.

He was too busy trying to walk with a pillowcase over this head to pay attention. It was rough, coarse fabric that hadn’t been washed in months, and Trowa had fleas now. He knew it. He knew it even as his guard manhandled him through the bus and towards his seat, hand tight around his arm and leaving marks his lover would seek vengeance for later. Someone was going to have to pay for the bruises littering his skin, and Trowa was determined it not be him. Not if he had anything to say about it.

Instead of the music, his first clue was the faint pop of gum. The second was a whiff of familiar cologne. And then it was the music, settling all together in a picture so complete he struggled not to laugh, face splitting into a manic grin behind its cover. Transfer drivers didn’t listen to that kind of music. They didn’tlisten to any music, and they definitely didn’t pop gum. Not when loading a notorious criminal, the jewel of the prison. His moment of triumph was ruined by a punch to his stomach, his impatient guard reminding him that it was time to sit, the bus already rumbling on its way.

“You will be very sorry for that,” he ground out, slowly lowering himself into the seat, the chains on his cuffs a dull clang on the metal door. The guard yanked hard, jerking him forward, head hitting the metal bar in the seat in front of him and making his vision blur as he reeled from the pain. It was nothing, really. The bus was tiny, only him and a handful of guards, and he couldn’t help but admire the planning. They were a long way from the war, and Trowa had a healthy appreciation for his partner’s methods by now. Even right down to the dramatic buildup.

“ _ What did you say _ ?” The guard barked, fist tight, ready to jerk again. They were moving too fast. Trowa could feel it beneath his feet, the steady roll of the bus as it carried him out of the prison yard, at least two guards short. His grin turned vicious just as the question was repeated, the guard’s hand sliding around his throat.

“He said” a familiar voice started “‘You will be very sorry for that’.” The accent was awful, a mockery more than anything else, and Trowa grit his teeth together as the driver hit the breaks, guard tumbling forward. With the grip on him broken, Trowa was able to raise his hands and tear off the flea-infested pillowcase, hair a wild, spiked tangle, the bruise on his cheek drawing a displeasured hiss from the man at the wheel, even as the bus accelerated again.

“You are late,” Trowa sniffed, imperiously drawing himself up.

“Shut the fuck up,” Duo shot back, racing along the roads with barely a glance in the rearview mirror. Trowa squinted, leaning closer to inspect the reflection.

“Are you wearing eyeliner?”

“And lipstick. You’d better appreciate this, Barton,” he growled out, jerking the bus around a corner and then slamming on the breaks again. “This is not my fucking color.” With the bus parked, he stood, whirling on Trowa with a snarl. It definitely was not. The bright matte pink was something Trowa thought would look great on Relena--even Quatre. Someone with a different tone to their skin. The sudden stop and start confused the guards, leaving them on the floor of the bus groaning as Duo fished a small key out of his hair, freeing him in a moments.

“I do not understand,” Trowa started, easily catching the knife Duo tossed his direction. “Why are you wearing makeup?”

“Bus driver liked hookers.”

“But you look--” Trowa bit it off, averting his eyes at the sudden hard, violet glare shot his way. It wasn’t that he’d never seen Duo in makeup before. It was that he’d never seen Duo in such bad makeup, ranting at him as he took on two guards at once, using his knife to gesture.

“Three fucking months. Three!” It was punctuated by a groan, one guard slumping. “You didn’t even tell me you were leaving, and then I don’t hear fucking anything for three goddamn months? What the  _ fuck  _ Trowa?” Duo hefted the last guard up, glaring into his face and nodding in Trowa’s direction. “Can you fucking believe this guy?” He didn’t wait for a reply, slitting the guard’s throat even as Trowa worked took care of his own opponents, face an expressionless mask.

“I did not do it on purpose,” Trowa insisted, using the back of his hand to wipe his forehead. Duo huffed, putting his hands on his hips and looking him over, finally, eyes narrowing as he took in his appearance.

“What the fuck happened to you hair?”

“Do you think,” Trowa was very calm, something he would be proud of later, “maybe we could drive now, and argue later? They will be coming.”

“They won’t be doing shit.” Duo’s voice was gravely, a rough drawl that had Trowa looking back over his shoulder at the prison, wondering if maybe it was too late to go back. “Since I fucking bought the whole thing out.”

“You--what?” Trowa’s mouth dropped open. He looked at Duo in shock, a slow flush working its way up his neck as he took a step back.  

“I bought it. Well--Q and I went halves. A joint venture. If you think I’m mad, just wait ‘til you see the others. I think Fei learned a whole new style of fighting just to kick your ass.”

“I did not know they cared,” came the sarcastic reply, Trowa stripping quickly as Duo threw a balled up set of clothing at him. The first shoe hit in him in the head, a punishment Trowa was grateful for, deep down. Very deep down.

He dressed without further comment, listening to the steady stream of Duo’s anger with a placid expression. When he finished, he looked up, heart warming at the sight of Duo standing with his arms crossed over his chest, glaring at him. His eyeliner was perfect despite the clash of the lipstick, and Trowa reached out without thought, gripping him by the upper arms and drawing him in, kissing him hard on the mouth. It was mostly teeth, Trowa’s fingers digging into skin as he clung. Duo growled, firsting the front of his shirt and shoving him into the seat,one knee propped up against it, tongue a brand against his lips. Groaning, Trowa hauled him closer, tasting him with eager reverence. Three months was too long to be apart. He wanted more, needed more. Wanted to be drunk on the taste of Duo’s month, the heat of his skin, leaning back farther, drawing Duo down—

“Stop,” Duo commanded, shoving him back against the seat and looking at him with penetrating violet eyes. “I’m still mad at you.” 

“That is okay. I am mad at me too,” Trowa reassured him, before offering a crooked smile. “We should move, da? It is not safe to be here.” Duo looked him over again, then nodded, standing and heading for the door.

“I’ve got a car hidden up ahead. And then you can tell me exactly how you ended up locked in a Russian prison for three months.”

“It is a very long story.”

“Great!” Duo drawled in return, rolling his eyes. “It’s a very long drive to St. Petersburg.”

Trowa groaned.


End file.
